Life On The Other Side
by CastleRock33
Summary: Harry is abandoned by the Dursleys and rescued by the Italian Mafia. He climbs through the ranks, oblivious to his magical background. What happens when they finally find him? Will he go without a fight? Dumbledore/Weasley Bashing!
1. Chapter 1

Life on the Other Side

It had been two weeks since Petunia Dursley found her orphaned nephew, Harry, on the doorstep of Number 4, Private Drive. In that time, Vernon Dursley had been given a promotion, following a trip to Queens, New York. You see, Vernon had a nasty plan, similar to the Grinch. He had the laugh down and everything. His planm, ladies and gentelmen, would later leadto Harry's rule over the largest empire on the planet. Crime. His plan, my dear friends, was to abandon none other than his own nephew. Harry Potter. This plan took place three days into the vacation.

At three, Vernon drove with his entire family to the Empire State Building. They left Harry in the car. Vernon, however biased, knew law. He knew that in nowhere in America was Harry's fingerprints. In nowhere in America was anything with his name on it. He knew that nowhere in America was his fingerprints. He knew he was in the clear. Dudley was too young, he reasoned, to remember Harry. He and Petunia were never to discuss Harry again, as they had sworn that day. The Dursleys arrived home at five, and Harry was not with them. As planned.

At four-fourty, Vincent Marcello. Underboss of the Bachoroni Family, and Jimmy Marcelllo, Soldier, and brother to Vincent, were driving away from the New York border of the Arctic Ocean. They had been on official mafia business that is still unknown.

"What the hell." Vicent muttered, looking into the car at the abandoned child. Harry was struggling in his blanket. Vernon had left the windows rolled up. Vincent and Jimmy were mortified

"Fuckin' bastards." Jimmy commented, walking up to the car. He looked at Vincent. "What're you fuckin' waitin' for? Get him outta there!" Vincent cried.

"Wha-! Well, I mean-" Vicent shoved him out of the way and bashed the passenger's window in with his elbow. He flung the door open and pullled Harry from his carseeat. Vicent cradled Harry, who was gasping for air. Jimmy looked at him with concern.

"What da we do with him, man?" Jimmy asked, finally finding his voice. "We ain't leavin' him here." Vincent said firmly.

"We can't raise a kid," Jimmy cried. "After last night-"

"What do we do, then?" Vincent countered. Jimmy opened and closed his mouth several times, his mind a blank.

"Right. Let's go, man." They got in the car and drove towards Don Charlie Bachoroni's mansion, telling him of the child they had found.

"Well," Bachoroni started, sympathetic towards their situation. "We'll have to keep him." His Capo, Nico Moretti, started to speak but was silenced when the Don raised his hand. "Orphanages are filled with epidemics. I will not be responsible for the death of an infant." Moretti nodded, glaring daggers at Vincent. The Don then ushered everyone from his office.

They drove to the apartment. Jimmy exploded.  
>"What the fuck are we gonna do? I'm not good with kids! Who's takin' care of him? Things are too heated an-"<p>

"FUCKIN' SHUT UP!" Vincent roared. He massaged his temples. "You're givin' me a fuckin' migraine." Jimmy shook his head but replied softly.

"Still, man." This time Vincent shook his head. They went to bed early, waking up with hangovers the next morning.

Later, they placed Harry in the care of high ranking soldier, Dante Limbardi, future Underboss. He was full of joy at being granted this honor, very uncharacteristically of him.

Eight months later, a shoot out took place the Atlantic coast of Maine. Jimmy was one of the first casualties, getting shot in the throat with a double barrel shotgun. Vicent was enraged and wiped out nearly a fifth of their oppressors. He was wounded in the shoulder and his ear was shot offf but he took no notice of it until about ten minutes after the battle.

Three weeks later, Vincent was almost fully recovered, when police stormed his apartment and arrested him for his ties with the Mafia. They tortured, threatened and beat him. He never breathed a word.

Far away, in Queens, New York, Harry Potter, newly Christianed Eduardo Limbardi was crying and balling for his savior. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Eduardo lay lazily on his bed, a leg dangling over the side. He was waiting. Waiting. Today was the day. He had known for weeks. He was getting made. Finally, he wouldn't be just "a guy". He would be Eduardo Limbardi, full fledged wise guy. Soldier in the Mafia. He stared at the clock on his wall. Tick, tick, tick, tick... There was an impatient knock on the door and it flew open. Eduardo's gaze tore from the clock to the man in the doorway, not even registering that he had bolted up from the bed.

"The boss is ready for you." Eduardo recognized this man. He was Gary Lloyd, a Soldier of four years, he was usually gaurding the Mansion or spying on the Irish mob. Gary eas half Irish, half Italian, this gave many reason to be suspicious. Yet, he was always just doing his job.

"Okay," Eduardo replied. He followed Garry out of the rather large apartment and slipped into the backseat, slamming the door. He hid his excitement with a mask of nonchalance. He looked down at himself. A nice, black jacket, with a white dress shirt underneath, new, dark blue jeans, and black tennis shoes. He pulled out a dark, red silky tie from his pocket and tied it on. He exhaled slowly, staring out the window.

They drove in silence, parking outside one of his father's resteraunts, Dante's. There was a closed sign and the shades were drawn. Gary's arm was around his shoulder. Eduardo was ushered inside. He took in the room. The tables, how they were polished. The bar occupied by Jack Pazzini(Soldier), Max Norolah(Soldier), Ben Volionra(Underboss), Denny Foland(Capo), and Parker Gyrino(Capo) was smooth and shone despite the dark. He was led by a scowling Nico to the table in the center of the small resteraunt, it was at this table Don Charlie Bachoroni, aged fifty-eight, sat. Bachoroni stood, everyone made a crowd around them. There couldn't be more than fourty-fourty five people there. Bachoroni looked into Eduardo's eyes, pulling out his switch blade slowly.

"Will you serve this generation?" Bachoroni's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes."

"Are you willing to face pain?"

"Yes."

Are you willing to keep our secrets?"

"Yes."

Bachoroni had a golden plate with a lit candle and a St. Francis card. Bachoroni's blade glinted in the candle light. Eduardo stared at the magnificent blade.

"Your trigger finger." Bachoroni ordered. Eduardo held out his hand. Bachoroni dug the blade into the skin of his index finger, causing blood to spill out. Bachoroni took the knife from his hand and squeezed more blood from his finger, onto the card. Eduardo lifted his hand, watching the blood cascade down his hand. Bachoroni picked up the card and dipped it into the flame of the candle, passing it gingerly into Eduardo's hands. The flame engulfed the card. Eduardo felt the flames burn his hands, yet he was still. Silent.

"Swear the oath."

"As this card burns, may my soul burn in Hell if I betray the oath of Omerta."

Eduardo brought his hands together and squeezed out the flame, rubbing his burned hands together, even afterwards. Everyone started making a fuss, congradulating him. Bachoroni maneuvered around the table and embraced him.

"You're one of us now," He said, beaming at him. "Now be among La Cosa Nostra." Bachoroni gave the golden plate to Nico. "Return it." He told Nico. Nico nodded and took the plate away.

Eduardo smiled and was engulfed by the crowd, most of whom he knew. His friend, who had recently been made himself, walked up to him.

"Hey, Eddy! Congrats, man!" His friend, Francis Donavan said jovially.

"Thanks Francis," Eduardo said, beaming. "Look at us. Wiseguys! Goodfellas! We got it made!" They grinned at eachother. Francis took out a pack of cigarettes, handing Eduardo one andputting another between his lips. He tried to flick on his lighter, resulting in mere sparks.

"Dammit." Francis muttered glaring at the lighter. It was then Eduardo spotted Nico trying to get through a crowd. Eduardo vaulted over a table, quickly followed by a confused Francis. Eduardo reached Nico.

"Hey, man," Eduardo started quickly. "One last thing," Eduardo tipped the two cigarettes into the flame Nico had stupidly left lit. "Thanks!" Nico looked very peeved at having to deal with another lowly soldier. Nico gritted his teeth and forced himself not to reply as he stalked away. Eduardo and Francis smoked at a booth, playing poker with a deck Francis had brought.

an hour later, Eduardo was standing by the entrance, chatting with Joey Merril(Soldier) who was telling Eduardo about his savior, Vincent Marcella who was the stuff of legends. He had four back to back life sentences in prison.

"-and he always kicked ass at pool, actually, this one time-" The door banged open and thirty armed men with green hoods stormed in.

"TONIGHT," a voice roared. "YOU ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Francis threw a knife that landed with a THUNK! into the mans head. A man stood forward and shot Francis in the chest, four inches from his heart.

"Slowly." The man growled. He pulled Francis up and threw him on the ground in front of his men. They took no haste in kicking him merclessly. Eduardo glanced around and saw gasoline in the corner. Very convenient. He slid over n silently poured gasoline on their shoes. Nico stared at him. Eduardo pleaded with him silently. Nico flung his lit zippo at their feet and the flames lapped up their legs as they screamed in agony. Taking this chance, the rest of the Mafia pulled their weapons and opened fire, sparing no one. In about a minute all of the oppressors were on the ground, sizzling.

"Help...me..." A voice croaked. Eduardo looked down at the man who had spoken. There was blood all over him and his hood was under him. Eduardo couldnt believe his eyes!

Gary.

Gary was a mole. A rat. Snitch. Eduardo was flooded with rage. Gary had watched as Francis was shot. Joined the other Irishman in beating him within an inch of his life. Eduardo acted in a second, clouded by anger. He closed his hands around Gary's throat, shaking him as he pressed on his windpipe.

Eduardo was silent as he strangled out what little life was left inside of Gary. Eduardo merely stared, snarling slightly as Gary's face turned red then purple as he gasped for air, recieving nothing. Eduardo's mind flashed to Francis as Gary stomped on him, laughing with the others. Rage boiled inside Eduardo and in that instant he was vaugely aware that there was no way in fuck Eduardo was going to let Gary live and not send him to his proper place in the ninth circle of Hell. Fear shone bright in Gary's eyes, silently begging for mercy. Eduardo took no notice, his face contorted in rage, he only strangled harder, stopping when Garry no longer moved. There was no light in his eyes.

Eduardo stood. He stared at the burned, shot, and strangled body of Gary Lloyd. Lifeless.

Don Bachoroni walked over to him and put an arm over his shoulder.

"It'll be okay, kid. It's good you're angry. Shows humanity. We grieve with you." Eduardo nodded. He walked over to Francis,an arm burned badly he was still gasping for air he already had.

"We'll get you help, man. Just hang in there." Eduardo and Nico carried Francis over to the hospital down the street. Their tires had been slashed. Once delivered, they walked back to Dante's.

"Thanks for the help, Nico." Eduardo said quietly.

"Don't mention it, kid." Nico said nonchalantly.

Eduardo shook his head but didn't reply.

(AN: The next chapter will be on a happier note. Review.) 


End file.
